They only come out at night

The flying ants that are flying madly around my computer screen right now, that is. During the day I am not plagued by them, but at night they plague much. A Terminix commercial keeps ringing in my head, telling me that flying ants might be a sign of termites. I am trying to ignore that ringing. I don't want termites in my 30 year old home that really doesn't need termites. Termites suck. I type awhile and then slap at these flying ants and then I cuss a little, too. It makes for fun nighttime blogging.

We need to call an exterminator anyway. The other night Abby found a spider in her bed. She screamed and called her daddy who captured said spider in a bug-looking-at jar complete with magnifying glass and then brought it to me. Which of course made me go "EEEEEEE!!" and hyperventilate and tinkle a little. The evil man I married shoved it in my face and said, "Ain't that a fiddle back?" I said, "Nah, it's too big for a brown recluse. But I'll check anyway."

It was a fiddle back. A brown recluse. A little brown eight-legged ball of poisonous, flesh-eating terror.

SO calling an exterminator tomorrow.

Tonight was yet another new experience for me. I cut my son's and my husband's hair. Paul's mom bought him some really good professional clippers years ago and twice Paul has cut his hair with them. It was not a good experience either time. It pretty much looked like he had shoved a stick of dynamite up a badger's but and it exploded all over my bathroom. My husband obviously does not know how to use a broom properly.

Last time Sam had a haircut Paul did it. The clippers were dull and the boy had a LOT of hair so it was not a pleasant ordeal. In fact, it was a rather horrible ordeal, punctuated by lots of crying and yelping from the boy and griping and swatting from the husband. So I decided tonight that I would be the one to clip the boy's hair. He immediately started crying, but I assured him that I wouldn't run the clippers over his head at warp speed. Only once did I pull his hair. I used the 1/4" guard on him, so he now looks like those kids who were absent the day after the lady from the health department came to do lice checks and came back with shaved heads. But the way I figure it, he'll be cool and it'll be awhile before I have to shave his head again. Always thinking ahead, I am.

Then, upon noticing the stellar job I did on my male offspring's hair, Paul came into the kitchen and plopped his rear in the chair and said it was his turn. He wouldn't let me use the 1/4" guard on him, so he looks less like a freshly shorn, de-bugged person than our son.

Iew. All this talk of bugs is making me itch. Iew.